《为爱唯爱(英文篇)》江枫不眠

5、直男的自我催眠与直视 ……

　　The basketball bounced against the rough pavement, its dull thuds echoing in the air.

　　Zhang Heyu had assumed that after turning Lin Xu down, this weekend would be exclusively theirs—a private world for just him and Lu Cheng'an. But he had clearly underestimated Lin Xu’s resilience, just as he had underestimated the deep-seated inertia in Lu Cheng'an’s heart, a reluctance to let go of the past.

　　The following day, Nan City No. 1 High School held its final weekend make-up class before the monthly exams.

　　The afternoon sun slanted through the glass windows of the corridor, casting long beams of light. The air was thick with the familiar scent of chalk dust and aged paper. Inside Class 3 of the sophomore year, most students were buried in their workbooks, the only movement the silent, lazy spin of the ceiling fan above.

　　Zhang Heyu chewed on his pen, twirling it idly between his fingers. Out of habit, he turned his head to steal a glance at his "iceberg" of a deskmate, only to find the seat beside him empty.

　　Lu Cheng'an was gone.

　　Zhang Heyu froze. He cast his gaze over the sea of bowed heads, looking toward the back corner of the classroom—Lu Cheng'an’s usual "absolute domain." But today, that corner was vacant as well.

　　Frowning, he stood up and slipped out of the classroom under the guise of using the restroom.

　　At the end of the hallway, a window stood half-open. As Zhang Heyu approached, a gentle voice drifted around the corner.

　　"...Didn't you always prefer using this formula for this type of problem? Why did you change your approach?"

　　It was Lin Xu.

　　Zhang Heyu stopped dead in his tracks. Pressing his back against the wall, he peeked around the corner.

　　At the end of the corridor, Lin Xu stood right beside Lu Cheng'an. They were close—intimately close. Lin Xu held a workbook, leaning down slightly to point at a problem. His posture was natural, almost tender, as if they shared an unspoken intimacy that no outsider could ever penetrate.

　　Lu Cheng'an didn't reject him as coldly as he had yesterday, nor did he pull away. He simply lowered his head, his brow furrowing slightly as he stared at where Lin Xu was pointing, seemingly lost in thought.

　　"...I forgot," Lu Cheng'an murmured, his voice soft, carrying a faint trace of unspoken surrender.

　　"That's alright. I'll explain it to you again." Lin Xu’s voice was so gentle it seemed to melt. He picked up a pen, jotted down a few formulas on a scratchpad, and turned his head, his gaze fixed entirely on Lu Cheng'an. "Cheng'an, you always do this. Whenever you hit a wall, you insist on grinding it out alone. You know you can lean on me."

　　Lu Cheng'an fell silent. He didn't argue; he just listened quietly to the explanation. The sunlight caught his profile, softening the usual icy chill of his features into something remarkably tender. He didn't push Lin Xu away. He didn't even show the slightest hint of impatience.

　　That unspoken synergy, the familiarity built over years of shared history, formed an invisible wall, firmly shutting Zhang Heyu out.

　　Standing behind the wall, Zhang Heyu watched the scene, his heart seized by an invisible hand. A dull, suffocating ache spread through his chest.

　　In that moment, he realized how foolish his previous "forced invasion" had been. Against the weight of Lin Xu and Lu Cheng'an’s long, intertwined past, his efforts felt like a joke.

　　Lu Cheng'an wasn't devoid of feelings for Lin Xu. He merely used coldness as a shield. But deep down, he harbored a tolerance and a reliance for Lin Xu that he hadn't even recognized himself. It was a bond that Zhang Heyu couldn't possibly buy with a few days of hanging out, a few games of basketball, or a few bottles of cola.

　　So... this is how it is, Zhang Heyu thought, a bitter smile touching his heart.

　　He withdrew his gaze. He didn't step forward to interrupt, nor did he rush out to claim his territory. He simply turned around in silence and walked back to the classroom.

　　By the time he returned to his seat, his heartbeat had steadied, but the light in his eyes had dimmed. He slumped over his desk, burying his face in the crook of his arms, refusing to look toward the hallway again.

　　He could only watch from the shadows, quietly retreating to the safe, platonic distance of a "deskmate."

　　Ten minutes later, the classroom door creaked open.

　　Lu Cheng'an walked in, holding a bottle of warm oolong tea. He approached his desk, glanced at the boy slumped over beside him, and a faint crease formed between his brows.

　　"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone as crisp and cool as ever.

　　Zhang Heyu didn't lift his head. "Just sleepy," he mumbled into his arms. "Catching up on some sleep."

　　Lu Cheng'an stared at the fluffy crown of Zhang Heyu's head. After two seconds of silence, he didn't press further. He gently placed the warm bottle of oolong tea on the corner of Zhang Heyu's desk, then sat down, opened his book, and returned to his work.

　　But this time, his pen hovered over the paper. Without realizing it, his gaze drifted to the quietly sleeping boy beside him.

　　Zhang Heyu's breathing was shallow, his shoulders rising and falling in a soft rhythm.

　　A sudden, inexplicable wave of irritation stirred in Lu Cheng'an's chest.

　　His mind flashed back to what Lin Xu had just said, to that long-forgotten feeling of being comfortably cared for. He had thought he would despise Lin Xu's persistence, but standing there, listening to that familiar voice, he hadn't felt repelled at all.

　　If anything... he had felt a strange sense of peace.

　　So why did seeing Zhang Heyu looking so dejected now feel infinitely worse than being pestered by Lin Xu?

　　Lu Cheng'an lowered his eyes, his gaze settling on the warm bottle of oolong tea. His expression grew deep and complicated.

　　He was straight. Always had been. His entire life, his attention had only ever been drawn to girls. He had never harbored feelings for a guy that crossed the line of friendship. Lin Xu was an old friend; their synergy and reliance were nothing more than the lingering habits of years.

　　How could he possibly like Lin Xu? The very idea was absurd.

　　And yet, as he looked at Zhang Heyu's resting profile, at the slight downward curve of his lips born from unspoken disappointment, his heart gave a strange, gentle tug.

　　Somewhere along the way, without him even noticing, he had placed someone in a corner of his heart where they absolutely shouldn't be.

　　And he didn't even know when he had fallen.